


head to higher ground while there's a chance to live

by dialecstatic



Series: whatever a sun will always sing is you [7]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Borderline Personality Disorder, Flashbacks, I promise it has a happy ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Nonbinary Character, Other, Transphobia, alternating pronouns, genderfluid!yuta, im so sorry, mostly just mentioned, nonbinary!sicheng, past events i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialecstatic/pseuds/dialecstatic
Summary: sicheng, yuta, and the peace of mind they create, thread by thread.





	head to higher ground while there's a chance to live

**Author's Note:**

> takes place (mostly) before most of the series so far ... im so sorry 
> 
> psa: yuta alternates between using they/them, she/her and he/him all throughout this
> 
>  
> 
> title from "in between" by beartooth

Sicheng has, for as long as they can remember, always loved creating things.

 

It starts with beads and thread, sitting on the carpet at the grandparents’ house while the grown-ups busied themselves with grown-up tasks, and little Sicheng created cascades of color that reflected something new in their eyes.

 

They ask for a sewing machine for their birthday one year and to their surprise, they get it, along with a full course of classes to learn how to use it. Fabric and needles feel natural in their hands, and they see endless possibilities stretched out in front of them like a roll of silk, smooth and shiny and so enticing. The life that seems so dull to so many never is to Sicheng as they learn to see the shapes and colors that no one else does, the meaning in hidden things. It becomes their purpose, something to pursue without rest.

  
  


Yuta, for as much as they wish it weren’t that way sometimes, have found themself on a path of destruction. 

 

It starts at fifteen, when they wear a skirt for the first time and a classmate corners them in the hallway and tries to get in their head, make them feel ashamed and lesser. Yuta barely has time to think before their fist meets the boy’s jaw, and they end up locked up in their room with nowhere to go but inside their own head. 

 

They find a way out eventually, of their little enclosed ward and of their own mind, grow fiercer by the day. It’s an uphill, neverending battle to find the balance between all the things they feel, all the frustrations and emotions bubbling up under the surface of their skin. In the meantime they find friends, unexpected allies on frontlines they never thought they’d be fighting on. Life is never dull with them in tow, and neither are the scars and bruises that remind them of who they are.

  
  


It’s unexpected for most - and makes perfect sense to some - that they fall into each other like the moon and sun. 

 

 

“You guys don’t make sense.” Ten quips one day as Sicheng dabs a cotton ball to Yuta’s temple. “But it’s kind of… the best, y’know?” 

 

“Do you really have nothing better to do than commenting on my re-aah please Winnie, warning next time-lationship right now?” Yuta replies in between two swabs of alcohol to her open wound, pointing to Ten’s scraped knees and bloody nose. “What’s Johnny going to think of this?”

 

Ten scrunches up his face at that and immediately regrets it, hands flying up to nurse his own nose. He’d promised Johnny he wouldn’t get into any more fights, especially without him near, and yet it had to happen again, merely two streets from his own apartment. 

 

“Yeah, well, at least there was no police involved this time. I can just tell him I tripped down the stairs or something.”

 

“We both know you won’t, because you love it way too much when he plays knight in shining armor.” It’s not as much an accusation as it is a fond remark from Yuta, who knows her friends well, and Ten smiles in acknowledgement.

 

Sicheng chuckles as they wipe the smearings of blood and alcohol from Yuta’s face, tilting their head to the side in thought.

 

“Yuta, I think you need stitches.” 

 

They’re almost toppled over when Yuta stands up, straightening up her spine and walking to the bathroom mirror to check for herself.

 

“Eh. I’ve had worse.” she shrugs, slender shoulders relaxing a little when Sicheng walks to her and smoothes a hand down her back.

 

“Let me patch you up then.”

 

They’ve always been good at that.

  
  


Yuta doesn’t need reminding that her and Sicheng don’t make sense, because she knows that better than anyone.

 

___

 

She didn’t know what to make of Sicheng when they first met. There was an eerie air around them, something like melancholy that they tried hard to turn into joy, somehow, a desire to do and be better that Yuta found it hard to relate to. She’d never felt good enough, at that point, anger twisting her insides mercilessly until it consumed her whole, the shell of the person she’d given up on becoming. 

 

Maybe, that’s why it works.

 

From the beginning, Yuta finds something in Sicheng that she felt she’d been looking for. Sicheng isn’t, at first glance, aggressive or vindicative, not like Ten is, not like Yuta wishes she weren’t at times. There’s restraint in their fire, but that doesn’t mean they don’t let it burn. Yuta is fascinated by the duality, a softness with sharp edges, like pins holding satin together. 

 

Yuta asks Sicheng out for the first time on a Tuesday, after walking them to their next class because they needed help carrying materials. She’s never taken someone on a date before, but Sicheng isn’t just “someone” and Yuta knows that if she doesn’t take the plunge, she’ll regret it (and Ten will never let her forget it). Sicheng just gives her that smile that makes her heart jump, and three days later they’re sitting on a park bench eating bad Chinese takeout, Yuta nearly crying with laughter as Sicheng points out the flaws in the food one by one.

 

“I,” she says, gasping for air, “Am so sorry. I didn’t know the place would be this bad.”

 

“It’s okay,” Sicheng stuffs more duck in their mouth and makes a face not unlike a child licking Play-doh “It doesn’t taste awful, just not the way it’s supposed to.”

 

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

 

Yuta dangles a dumpling in front of Sicheng’s face and narrowly catches it when it threatens to slip out of her chopsticks. 

 

“Anything?” 

 

At the time, Yuta thought she should have been a little nervous at that. She’s glad she wasn’t.

 

“Anything.”

 

Sicheng wipes the corners of their mouth and stops for a moment, and Yuta can feel their eyes studying her, trailing a path along her face, down her shoulders and to her waist. It should feel uncomfortable but it doesn’t, because Yuta can’t recall a time she’d been looked at so insistently with anything other than disgust.

 

“I need a model.” 

 

Uh?

 

“We’re starting garment construction and presentation this year, and I need someone to model my creations. It would be sporadic really, I’ll try to give you an approximate but-”

 

“I’ll do it.” Yuta cuts in, more than happy to make herself useful.

 

“Yeah? It’ll require long periods of standing still, you know?”

 

“Sure, I can do that! I’m great at standing still, like I am at most things.”

 

Sicheng raises both eyebrows at her.

 

“So we’re going to pretend like you weren’t pacing a hole around the room last time, when we had to wait two minutes for Taeyong to finish their exam?” 

 

Yuta sticks her tongue out and hastily throws the leftovers inside the bag, holding her hand out to Sicheng as she gets up off the bench.

 

“Let’s go get some ice cream. And no bad surprises this time, I promise.”

 

Their hands stay clasped together the whole way there.

  
  


 

Sicheng’s hands work magic, Yuta convinces himself.

 

There’s no other way he’d be able to stay completely put as the younger pins fabric to his frame, nimble fingers pinning and adjusting as they go. There’s no way Yuta would feel comfortable like this with anyone else, with the needles grazing their skin, eyes watching them closer than they had ever let anyone, hands molding him just right, and yet here with Sicheng, with some soothing instrumental music playing over the speaker of their laptop, he feels calm, waiting for his maybe-more-than-a-friend to finish. 

 

“Hm.” 

 

Yuta whips his head around while trying to not move his body at the same time, and he nearly tumble down but catches himself before Sicheng can see. They’re standing a few feet away, running their hand through their hair (it’s strawberry blonde today, and Yuta can’t think of enough ways to compliment them on it), a discontented frown on their face.

 

“What’s up?” Yuta tries, even though they know nothing about dress construction and even less about what goes on in Sicheng’s head at any given moment.

 

“Something feels off. Not you… I just think I need more time to go over it.”

 

In all the years of his admittedly yet-short life, Yuta has never considered himself a patient person. For Sicheng, he thinks he can try.

 

“Take all the time you need.”

  
  
  


It doesn’t happen nearly as much as it used to, not since they started college and found friends that encourage them instead of putting them down, but Yuta can’t help the restlessness sometimes, the frustration that boils in their gut and threatens to spill over at the slightest push. They know it isn’t good, and they know it isn’t fair, not to them or anyone else, but stopping it isn’t as easy as they’d like. So they lock themself away - something they keep wishing, over and over, they wouldn’t have to do, only to find the lock and throw away the key, somewhere they wish they could forget.

 

The insult comes as they’re walking with Sicheng and Taeyong, and it flies through their lungs like a dart, piercing and shallow, yet deep enough to leave a mark. They see red, and there isn’t any pull in the punches they throw, reckless and blind, Taeyong holding them back as Sicheng stays frozen in place, the stranger fleeing and snickering as they do. 

 

It hurts, their knuckles and their throat, and their eyes are stinging with tears and regret, and Taeyong has their small arms around them like a vice, trying to calm them down, telling them to keep their head down,  _ ‘don’t look, just breathe, it’s okay, just breathe’ _ , but Yuta has never been someone who listens. They open their eyes and look around, the grey tones of the pavement melding with the blues and whites of the sky before they realize.

 

Everyone is watching.

 

And no one is moving.

 

It takes a few seconds of staggered breath for Yuta to make it to their feet and then they’re running like hell, leaving Taeyong behind, leaving the idle crowd behind, leaving Sicheng behind…

 

Maybe they never deserved Sicheng, after all. Maybe they’d have destroyed this too, like they destroy everything else. Maybe it’s better if they just close the door and never open it back up.

 

Yuta’s out of breath when they get to their dorm room, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as they walk in, slamming it behind them. It takes the last remaining common sense they have to lock it before they sink to the floor, tears running down their face, their chin, their neck, an inelegant waterfall that they hope they drown in. Their hands are clawing at their face for some semblance of retribution, against this body and this mind that’ll never leave them be, against this temper that never seems to mellow out, that brings them to the brink everytime, that drives everyone away. They should have known.

 

Slowly, like they’re waiting for the world to stop, Yuta slouches against their wardrobe, swallowing their tears as they do only for more to come. 

 

“Fuck.”

 

They punch the door, and if it leaves a dent, then it’s just more proof that they’re no good for this world at all.

 

“Fuck!” 

 

The crash when their fist hits the floor hurts, something cracking beneath the skin, and they can’t bring themself to care about the pain that spreads through their arm.

 

There’s a faint buzz coming from their bag, and Yuta knows the sensible thing to do would be to pick up, tell everyone they’re fine, really, this too shall pass, or some other lie that’ll make everything go away for a while. But they can’t find the strength to move their aching body even an inch, and so they close their eyes, a dull burn spreading behind their lids and wait for the call to end. Maybe if they play dead, everyone will forget they were even there.

 

When things are like this - when  _ they’re _ like this-, there isn’t much more they can do.

  
  


Hours later, when they’ve somehow fallen asleep with their back to the wardobe’s hardwood door, they’re awoken by a knock. They don’t need to check the time to know that it’s late, that there’s no reason for anyone to be here at this hour. Maybe it’s another trick of their mind, and they’d brush it off as that if another knock didn’t come right after.

 

“Can I come in?” 

 

Sicheng’s voice has a way of soothing Yuta’s nerves, even now.

 

“I don’t know why you’d want to.” they shoot back. They’d been so careful to not let Sicheng see this side of them, the ugly and broken parts they’ve worked so hard on hiding away, and they’d ruined everything in seconds.

 

“Yuta, please unlock the door.” 

 

Their legs barely carry them there, and Yuta stays with their hand on the handle for a moment, unsure still.

 

“Please.”

 

They’ve never been good at compartmentalizing.

 

Yuta rubs their eyes with their sleeve, hoping it’ll at least make them look like they have their shit together somehow, even after what happened. The door swings open and there is Sicheng, perfect as always, something in their eyes like sadness that Yuta hates to know they put there.

 

“Are you okay?” is all they say, standing on the doorstep like they’re waiting, unsure, to be invited in.

 

“I will be. Maybe. Who knows?” Yuta tries to smile through the sentence, biting their lips to keep from crying again.

 

“I hope so.” 

 

Sicheng apparently decides they’re done waiting, because they walk past Yuta in a flurry of color and take their hand as they go, sitting both of them down on the bed in one fell swoop, a gracious movement even in its mundanity. There is never a moment that Yuta isn't awestruck by everything Sicheng does. 

 

“We don't have to talk about it right now, if you don't want to.” it’s soft and low and Yuta feels relief washing over them. “But we should, eventually.”

 

“I know.”

 

They've known for a long time now. It’s not just frustration and anger at the way the world treats them, although it’s always played a part in it, Yuta supposes. There's only so much one can do while their existence is being walked all over until something snaps. But it’s not that simple. It’s also nights crying at nothing, scratch marks on their skin as they try to rip away the tension running through their veins, under their skin, the same one that makes their muscles tighten and their nerves catch on fire at a moment’s notice, like a glass always a drop away from spilling over. It’s also the way their throat tightens and they can’t seem to do anything but scream, bite marks of their own creation staying on their hands for days, grim reminders of the beast that lives within, the disconnect somewhere in their mind. Yuta had hopes when they started college, moved to a new town and met new people, that it would stop, that they wouldn't have any reasons to get angry anymore, that they'd find other ways to revolt. The revolt had happened, but the anger had remained, as inexplicable and violent as it had ever been. 

 

“Maybe you could see someone? A… A professional?” Sicheng threads around the subject, hands folded in their lap as they speak.

 

“I’ve thought about it… I just never thought it would work. Most things don’t.”

 

Yuta knows this, knows that it’s the best, and perhaps only, option available to them. But they can’t help being afraid of what might come to light if they do see a psychiatrist, few things scaring them more that whatever ugly artefact has lodged themselves deep inside their brain. 

 

“I will. I’ll try, I…” 

 

Sicheng takes Yuta’s hand in theirs, making them look at the face that’s been soothing their worries all this while.

 

“You’ll get there. I want to help you, but there’s only so much I… Only so much we can do.” they say, squeezing Yuta’s hand. “Wherever you need to go, we’ll go with you.”

 

In that moment, it takes all of Yuta’s willpower not to cry again, even if Sicheng is looking at them as if to say,  _ ‘it’s okay’ _ , even if this might be the one time that crying is the easier option. But they’ve done their fair share of crying, and now more than ever, they want to look at the future with clear eyes.

 

It’s late and the moon is hanging high in the sky, but Sicheng doesn’t leave until Yuta is asleep and dreaming.

  
  


The college’s studio is too small for how many students there are, and that’s how Yuta finds himself trapped between a suitcase and an embroidery machine, Sicheng hand-sewing a last minute ornament to the front of their jacket.

 

“It’ll pull the whole look together.” they said before brandishing a needle that is a little too thick for Yuta’s liking, and although he’s gotten used to the close contact with sharp objects by now, he still get a little antsy when one of Sicheng’s hand slides under the jacket and the other gets to work.

 

The presentation is, according to Sicheng, worth forty-five percent of their grade for the semester, so Yuta understands the perfectionist tendencies that seem to have overtaken the younger student, their eyes narrowing and their tongue caught between their teeth as they sew. It’s fascinating, how into it and laser focused Sicheng gets at time like this, deadly in their own way with a needle and thread. It’s, yet again, one of the many things Yuta likes about them.

 

“There.” Sicheng takes a few steps back to admire their work, hastily murmuring an apology when they bump into their TA, who turns around to look at their work. 

 

“Well that’s pretty awesome!” the TA exclaims, clasping a hand on Sicheng’s shoulder. “Really nice work.”  

 

“I think it’s one of my best yet.” The look of pride in Sicheng’s eyes as they say this makes Yuta’s heart flutter. “So, thank you.”

 

“I have a feeling you don’t need my approval to think that, though.” the TA says, laughing as Sicheng shoots them a wink before they walk away to examine the other students’ work.

 

“You know your stuff, Winnie. I’m sure everyone will love it.” Yuta beams at them, trying not to move too much so he doesn’t wrinkle the garment.

 

Sicheng stops in their tracks for a second, giving him a look of fondness and confusion (how they manage to mix those two things together, Yuta isn’t sure, but it’s Sicheng, so he just accepts it).

 

“What did you just call me?”

 

The room stops moving for a moment and Yuta feels his eyes growing ten times their original size when he realizes what he said. That had been kept to himself ever since he and Sicheng had gotten tipsy on soju one night and talked about their childhoods, Sicheng revealing the nickname their grandmother gave them when they were a kid and Yuta crying - from the alcohol, he claims - at how adorable and fitting it was. He’d made his own version of it, something he’d called Sicheng in his head and his phone contacts since then.

 

“I… You know what, forget it. How about that TA, uh? Pretty cool person, very encouraging, I’m sure you have great talks about, uh, fashion. And stuff.”

 

He feels like he’s going to dissolve through the floor at a moment’s notice.

 

“Yes, Baekhyun is really nice. Very forward thinking. We have good talks.” Sicheng says dryly, arms crossed over their chest and an unmistakable smirk spreading across their face. “Yuta. You’re turning really red, should I call an ambulance?”

 

“Honestly? You might have to.” 

 

And the, Sicheng bursts into laughter and Yuta follows suit, the two of them hunched over and trying to keep quiet as everyone around stops working for a moment to raise their eyebrows and shake their heads at the pair. 

 

“That is so cute, I can’t believe you.” Sicheng says, breathing hard as they try to regain their composure.

 

“I kind of can’t believe it took me this long to slip up.”

 

“And why’s that?” 

 

Sicheng’s fingers curl around the lapel of Yuta’s jacket, thumb slipping over the soft fabric.

 

“You make me… a different person, I guess. I like me better when I’m with you.” 

 

The words come out almost too naturally, and Sicheng smiles, this time in earnest.

 

“I don’t know if we can put a label on this, maybe ever, but… I’m really glad that you’re in my life, for what it’s worth.” honesty is the best policy, Yuta thinks, and he lets himself speak without fear. 

 

“It’s worth everything.” is what Sicheng has time to say before Baekhyun claps their hands over their head to give everyone the five-minute warning.

 

They scramble to their table to finish styling Yuta’s hair, and cut a few loose threads from his outfit, and he marvels at how fast they went to that from the giggly, soft person that he thinks he loves. Yeah, maybe he does. Right now, it doesn’t seem as scary as it’s always been.

 

Because it’s Sicheng, and it’s their kind eyes, their expert hands and their sharp mind, working together and creating the picture of someone Yuta was to fight for. There’s something about them alright, something that goes deeper than the mind can hope to see at first, but that is there, and that is true.

 

Maybe because it's them, and because they're here, they can create something new.

**Author's Note:**

> right so... this is taken from a lot of my own experience with anger issues and bpd, so it's accurate to my own personal experience but might not be to everyone's? anyway.
> 
> thank you, always and forever, to bru, dylan & ricki <3
> 
> and thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who reads & appreciates this series, it means more than i could ever say.
> 
> once again and as always, im on [twitter](http://twitter.com/diaminghao) if you want to chat!


End file.
